


The Pen is Mightier

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew something so simple could be so deadly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pen is Mightier

"Where the hell did that waitress go?" Dean rattled the ice in his glass, hoping the noise would make her magically appear. It didn't happen.

The last bite of his hamburger felt like it was half-lodged in his throat. Not enough to worry, but enough to annoy. No amount of dry swallowing or throat clearing seemed to help. He was tempted to take his glass into the bathroom and fill it with tap water. He looked across the table at Sam. "Let me have some of your drink."

"No," Sam said, "you won't like it."

"Why won't I like it?"

"Because she gave me diet iced tea."

"Did you ask for diet?"

Sam gave an _am I actually related to someone this stupid?_ look. "No, Dean, I didn't ask for diet."

"Then why didn't you ask for another drink?"

"Because it's no big deal and, as you may have noticed, she's not the most competent waitress in the world."

"I don't care; I just need something to wash my burger down."

Sam gave a put-upon sigh, but pushed his tea toward Dean. 

Dean grabbed it and took a big swig. Ah, much better. The lump was gone. But…

There was an odd tingle in his throat. He tried clearing his throat again, but the tingle remained. That was weird. He took another drink of tea, hoping to wash whatever it was away, but it made it worse. And now there was mucus or something building up. What the hell? 

Dean hit his chest, hoping to break free whatever was causing the sensation. He was having a hard time drawing a breath. He must've made some kind of noise because Sam was looking at him, irritation chucked aside by worry. Dean tried to say something, but nothing came out save for a strangled hiss as his vision started to grey around the edges. 

The last thing Dean saw was the panicked look on his brother's face as he yelled for help.

***

Dean woke to the all-too-recognizable smell of "hospital." He would be annoyed, but he felt lucky to be waking up at all, so he let it go. He turned his head to find Sam watching him.

"What kind of pansy-ass is allergic to aspartame?" Sam's sarcasm tried to cover his obvious relief at seeing Dean was awake.

"Shut up." Dean rubbed at his eyes. "How was I supposed to know? I never drink diet." 

Sam snorted. "I've heard of people who can't hold their liquor—never heard of anyone who couldn't hold their diet drink."

"Seriously, when I get free of this IV, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Sure, whatever you say, princess."

Dean was released shortly after the doctor checked in on him. Before they could leave, he had to sit through an instructional lecture on the use of EpiPens and stern admonishments to avoid ingesting anything containing the artificial sweetener. Dean had never craved diet _anything_ before, so it wasn't as if he felt he was missing out. 

***

A few weeks after "the incident," even Sam had relaxed enough to joke about it. Dean had been trying to rile him up and Sam grabbed a packet of Equal from the diner's table and threatened to put it in Dean's beer if he didn't shut up.

"Sacrilege," Dean said, cackling. But he settled down, just in case.

***

Months later, they'd gotten practically complacent.

"Everyone can stop fighting in the Middle East—I've found the real Mecca." Dean greedily read through the House of Pies menu. "What do you think the waitress would say if I ordered a slice of each type?"

"I don't know what she'd say, but I would have to ask if they had a rolling cart I could borrow to wheel you out to the car." Sam scanned through his own menu. "You know they have real food here, too."

"Bite your tongue; the pies might hear you. How dare you saw they're not real!" Dean grinned as Sam shook his head. It was too easy sometime.

A waitress—Pamela, her tag read—stopped beside the table. "What can I get for you?" 

Dean rolled his eyes when Sam ordered a salad. My God, he'd raised him wrong. Not even a piece of pie on the side. Dean, on the other hand, ordered a slice of Dutch apple, a slice of strawberry-rhubarb, and a slice of blueberry crunch.

Pamela smiled, amused. You want anything to go with that?" she asked. 

"Oh, yeah. Coffee. Black, please."

"Sure thing."

Their food appeared almost immediately, probably since all they had to do was throw some lettuce on a plate for Sam, and cut some pie for Dean. Pamela placed Sam's lemonade next to his salad, and Dean's coffee in front of him.

"Let me know if there's anything else you need," she said.

Dean barely got out a _thanks_ , before he was digging in to the apple pie. Three big bites and it was gone. "This is amazing," he mumbled through his last mouthful. 

Sam scowled, shielding his food with his arm.

Dean was insulted. As if he would waste such excellent pie by spitting it at Sam. He grabbed his coffee and took a big gulp to push the rest of the pie down, freezing a second later when he felt that familiar tingle in his throat. "Oh, crap," he got out just before his throat closed.

Sam must've recognized the look on his face, because he was a flurry of motion, scrambling in his jacket for his omnipresent EpiPen injector and slamming it into Dean's thigh. 

As the epinephrine coursed through his body, Dean's heart started to speed up and his breathing started to ease. Sam rubbed his back in soothing strokes as he regained his equilibrium. 

Sam leaned over and picked up Dean's coffee cup, taking a sip of the liquid inside. His face darkened in rage.

When he was fully aware again, Dean saw they'd gained a small crowd, and Sam was yelling at the waitress who had rushed over to see what the problem was.

"My brother ordered a plain black coffee. There's some kind of sweetener in there. He's _allergic_. You almost killed him!"

Dean couldn't fault Sam because he'd probably be doing the same thing if their roles were reversed, but poor Pamela was looking terrified, and he needed to get Sam out of there before authorities got involved—or before Dean collapsed and embarrassed himself further. The effects of the medicine were leaving him shaky.

"Sam," he croaked. 

Sam didn't pause in his tirade. "How hard is it to pour freakin' coffee into a cup?!" he asked scathingly. "Perhaps you don't realize this, but people order specific things with the intention of receiving those same specific things."

Dean was finally able to draw enough breath to loudly say, "Sam!" 

"What?" Sam barked, face softening when he saw it was Dean who'd called him. 

Dean gripped Sam's arm. "It's okay; I'm fine."

"You could have _died_ , Dean." 

God _damn_ those mushy eyes. 

Dean forced a laugh. "No way. I was with you, and I know for a fact that you have at least two more EpiPens hidden on your body." He pulled on Sam's arm. "Come on, you're scaring everyone. It was an accident. Let's go."

Sam nodded, but shot a dark look at the waitress. 

Dean could tell Sam was still upset because he didn't seem to care that he'd scared Pamela half to death, and didn't apologize as they gathered their things and shuffled toward the exit. Dean mournfully eyed the two remaining pie slices. 

Sam snapped, "Don't even think about it," as he propelled Dean out the door.

"Goodbye, Mecca," Dean lamented. Maybe they could hit the Ultimate Pie Factory next time they went through St. Louis.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to JJJunky, herself an allergic pansy. ;)


End file.
